


Golden

by Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction



Series: The Monster Series Collection [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A little bit of blood, F/M, Supernatural Lore, monster!character one shot, skinwalker!steve, spooktober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction/pseuds/Green_Eyed_Dragon_Fanfiction
Summary: After a long day of work, you unwind in your bed and ramble at your dog (a golden retriever named Captain) who, like all non-sentient creatures, listens dutifully and without judgement. But everything isn’t as it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Blood   
> If you want to request another Monster!Character, you can drop a comment on any of the fics in the Monster!Series Collection, giving me a prompt and/or telling me what Monster!Character you want to see! Please don't request Monster!Character I've already done (for example, demon!bucky or vampire!steve). You can request any character from the following universes: MCU, Mass Effect, X-Men, Harry Potter, Supernatural, and Dragon Age. Requesting something doesn't mean I'll choose it, but it doesn't hurt to ask!

[Originally posted by rosesintheconcrete](https://tmblr.co/Z_XuAy2Ap5G8K)

By the time you walk in your front door and lock it behind you, you’re practically dead on your feet. The sound of nails clacking excitedly on the floor catches your attention, though, and a half second later a comet of golden fluff barrels around the corner. You can practically hear the cartoon screeching halt sound effect playing in your head as your dog- Captain- comes to an abrupt halt in front of you, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth in a big doggy grin. 

You can’t help but smile at him as you slip off your heels, juggling them and your bag so you can scratch gently at his ears. “I’m home, bud. How was your day?” you ask him in your go-to doggy voice. 

He can’t understand you, but he woofs quietly and pants happily as he trails you through the halls, close but not close enough to trip you up. 

“That’s good,” you said agreeably, eye sparkling with amusement. You drop your bag off on the couch but don’t stop walking, marching tiredly towards your bedroom. You don’t pause except to throw your jacket towards the closet before you collapse into bed, blissful sigh leaving your lips. 

The mattress bounces gently and you turn your head to look at Captain, who lays down next to you, just far enough away that his breath doesn’t reach you. 

“You wanna hear about my day?” you ask him, knowing full well you’re going to regale him with tales, heedless of the fact that he won’t understand a word of it. He seems to enjoy the sound of your voice and you enjoy talking to a creature that can’t judge you. 

But Captain gives you a big doggy smile and _whuff_ s gently, so you take that as a yes. 

“Well, Pierce was in a particularly bad mood. He had me running about the office all day after the coffee shop mixed up his order.” Captain whines softly so you absently reach over and scratch gently at his ears. “But then I went to the canteen on the bottom floor and that guy was there again,” you tell the golden retriever, eyes serious. As if sensing this is important, he stills, staring at you with brown eyes. “You remember, right? The one with the blond hair and the prettiest blue eyes ever?” Captain tilts his head to one side and blinks at you, and you frown. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t, would you? Anyway, he was working the register again and I finally managed to get a peek at his name tag. His name is Steve!” you say excitedly, not quite able to stop your voice from growing in volume. 

Captain whines at the noise and you quickly scratch at his head and sooth him with long pets down his back. “Don’t be jealous, it looks ugly on you,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him. 

This is apparently the wrong thing to do, though, because a second later Captain scoots forward and licks the entire side of your face. 

“Captain, no! _Erughk!_ ” you exclaim, trying in vain to shove the mass of fluff and muscle off of you. 

He does sit back down, though, mouth open, panting and undeniably happy. 

You snort at him. “Glad you see it my way. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I brought home one more person to give you pets?” you ask, grinning when he woofs softly. “It’s settled, then,” you tell him. “I’ll ask him out tomorrow!” 

Captain’s tail thumps against the mattress insistently, obviously excited because of your tone. Dogs could understand that much, at least. 

You smile and crawl underneath the blankets, resolve settling deep in your chest. “Tomorrow, then. Better sleep so I can wake up early and plan my outfit extra carefully.” 

Captain, of course, remains quiet as he settles in above the blankets, right next to you. Even through the blankets he’s like a heater and you think that maybe, with him around, you can put off turning the heat on until a little later into October. 

“Goodnight, bud,” you mutter, falling asleep quickly. The only response you get is a sleepy snuffle, but you’ve already fallen into unconsciousness. 

You don’t hear the howl echoing outside, waking Captain instantly, nor do you hear the low whine in his throat at the sound.

* * *

You awake with a screech, a vice-like pain in your arm snapping you into alertness immediately. 

Captain was sitting on the bed, staring down at you, jowels tinged slightly pink with blood.

Your blood. 

You scramble away from the golden, eyes wide with fear. Never in the time you’d owned him had he done anything violent towards any other living creature (not even your neighbor Ms. McGillucutty’s vicious minpin). 

Blood seeps out of the bite and you clamp a hand around it, eager to staunch some of the bleeding. 

You half expect Captain to attack again, but he simply stares at you, tail between his legs and head down, whining softly. 

“What the fuck!” you cry out, not too loudly, afraid that you’ll startle him into biting again. “Shit,” you hiss, flinching as your arm throbs painfully. The door to the bathroom is open and you long to go in and clean the cut out, but Captain is between you and it and you’re afraid he’ll lunge if you make a move for it.

But then the sound of something cracking- it was a deep, wet sound, that had your stomach turning- makes you freeze. 

It’s coming from Captain. 

Maybe he was hurt and tried to wake you up, but couldn’t? Is there someone in your house? Was he trying to warn you? 

A yelp of pain followed by even more cracking and Captain is shifting- but that doesn’t make any sense- and his hair and snout are receding and his eyes are changing colors and he’s growing broader and his claws are turning into nails and his feet are shortening and within a minute Steve- Steve from the sandwich shop- is sitting naked on your bed, eyes watering. 

[Originally posted by sincerelysaraahh](https://tmblr.co/Zj1kBx2AwGtL-)

You’re so shocked that you don’t even flinch as he practically throws himself at you and sobs into your hair, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had to. I didn’t want to, but we need your help and they didn’t trust that you’d help if I just asked. I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

“What _are_ you?” you breathe, horror creeping into your voice. “Is this a dream?” 

He doesn’t release you. If anything, he pulls you closer. “This isn’t a dream. I’m what humans call a skinwalker,” he admits quietly, voice ever so slightly muffled by your hair. 

“You’re Captain,” you whisper, brain not processing the events of the last five minutes at all. 

“Yes,” he answers immediately. 

“And you’re Steve, from the canteen at work.” 

“Yes,” he answers again, voice breaking. 

“You bit me,” you mumble into the meat of his shoulder, mind painfully aware of the throbbing in your forearm. The pain is radiating outwards slowly and, deep in the back of your mind, a tiny voice shouts _“infection”_ at you. “Why?”

“They asked me to turn you.” He finally moves back enough so that you can breathe freely. You stare numbly as he takes your hand gently in his and lifts it slowly, brow furrowing as he gives your arm an assessing stare. 

Your gaze follows his and you’re shocked to see it’s already scabbed over, dried blood making it look worse that it actually is. “What the hell,” you breathe. “I’m fucking dreaming,” you whisper, light-headed. This was too weird. This couldn’t be real. 

But Steve-Captain shakes his head, blond hair nearly falling into his eyes. “Not a dream. I’m sorry,” he says, blue eyes immeasurably sad. 

“Turn me. Into a dog?” you whisper, tearing your eyes from your mostly-healed wound (which was still throbbing in a worryingly painful way) to stare at him. 

Steve-Captain shakes his head slowly. If he hadn’t just bitten you, you might say he looks pitying, or even gentle. “A skinwalker. We won’t know for sure what you’ll turn into, but we’re guessing a cat or a dog. Maybe a parrot.” 

“Why me?” 

Steve-Captain frowns. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, but you should sleep for now. The transition is going to take a lot out of you.” 

You should have said no. Should have shoved Steve-Captain from your bed and run away. Gotten in your car and driven as far and as fast as you could.

But the whispers of “safe. pack. sleep.” and hundreds of equally-comforting thoughts drift in the back of your mind, and your eyelids grow heavy without you realizing it. 

You sink down into the sheets, not caring when Steve-Captain slides in next to you, one arm going around your waist while the other brings your wounded arm to his mouth, pink tongue darting out to clean the blood from your bite mark. 

You fall asleep to the sight of tender blue eyes keeping watch over you, big arms shielding you from the world. 

* * *

When you awake your bed seems larger and you blink and yawn, staring down at Steve-Captain, who’s his usual doggy self. 

Maybe it was a dream after all. 

You open your mouth to say good morning to him, but all that comes out is a long, plaintive meow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before and after the events of part one. What led Steve to turning reader and the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a second part that happened because this series was chosen by popular vote for my 4k follower celebration fan pick fic on Tumblr! I hope you all enjoy it!  
> I literally don’t have an excuse for not posting anything recently. I just… didn’t. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ If your favorite character isn’t mentioned in here and you want my headcanon for what animal they’d be, feel free to send me an ask.

## 

[Originally posted by mackievanstan](https://tmblr.co/ZPtsNh2IpuhYy)

**Steve’s POV**

Steve’s skin itches from being in his human form for so long. It doesn’t help that here’s a mere ten floors away from the man who wants to kill him and everyone like him. 

But he has an important job to do; find someone that has close contact with Alexander Pierce on a daily basis and turn them. If that means he has to serve sandwiches to entitled, pompous hunters and unaware busybodies, then so be it. 

The mission turns his stomach a bit. He was born into this existence, but he knows quite a few who’d been turned. It’s an ugly spot in their lives as they came to terms with the changes in their bodies and he isn’t sure he wants to subject someone to that. 

But Alexander Pierce (and Schmidt in Europe) give him and his people little choice. 

“Excuse me?” 

Steve glances up and nearly swallows his tongue. The woman standing at the counter is the single most enchanting person he’s ever seen. 

“Uh, hi,” he says eloquently, remembering belatedly to smile. Apparently his greeting is as awkward as he thinks it is because you smile nervously and look unsure. Instead of trying to salvage the greeting, he asks, “What can I get for you?” You give him your order and he immediately sets to work, gathering ingredients and toasting your bread. “Are you new here? I recognize all the regulars, but I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen you before.”

You smile up at him, a little bit of your awkwardness melting away now that you have a thread of conversation to latch onto. “Yes, actually! I just started working as Alexander Pierce’s personal aide,” you say brightly.

Steve winces internally. The last aide had vanished a few weeks ago and, no matter how deep his pack dug, they hadn’t found heads of tails of the girl. The running hypothesis is that Pierce had her killed after she discovered what he was up to. Pierce likes his aides clueless and disposable. Steve would bet his animal form that you have no family in the city (if any at all) and few friends.

He shoves those thoughts aside and beams at you. “Welcome to the building, then,” he says as he wraps up the food you ordered and takes the card you hold out for him, swapping it for the bag of food. “Does that mean you’ll be around a lot?” he ventures, not wanting to say goodbye just yet. 

You fidget nervously and the sound of the paper bag crinkling fills the space between you. “Probably.” 

Steve grabs a punch card from behind the register and hands it over to you, along with your credit card. “Eleventh sandwich is free,” he explains, which makes you smile. 

“In that case, you’ll definitely see me again,” you say almost shyly. 

The smile you aim at him makes his heart skip a beat. “Have a good day,” he says faintly.

You grin and nod. “You too.”

* * *

Natasha and Wanda look into you. Wanda is convinced you’ll be a household pet (she’s never been wrong before). Natasha confirms that you have no history with Hydra. 

In short, you’re perfect. You’re everything the pack needs to take down Alexander Pierce. 

Two weeks after he meets you, Steve gets the order to infiltrate your home and ensure you’re as squeaky clean as Natasha’s report suggests. 

He’s terrified.

* * *

**Your POV**

You’re lonely. No two ways about it. Pierce pays a lot but your work keeps you so busy that you don’t have the energy to go out and do things at the end of the day. You can hardly drag yourself out of bed on Saturday. 

The flier for the local animal shelter is sitting on your desk and every time there’s a lull at the office your eyes are drawn to it like magnets. You’d taken one from a stack in the canteen on a whim, but the more you think about it, the more a pet seems like a good idea. 

* * *

The puppies and kittens are adorable, but you don’t have time to train a puppy or kitten, so you spend only a little time _ooh-_ ing and _ahh-_ ing at them before you look at the older animals. 

You know the dog you’re going to get the moment you see him. Unlike the other dogs (who were either too excitable or didn’t pay any attention to you) the golden retriever is staring at you, tail thumping lightly against the floor, butt planted firmly on the ground. 

“Well hi there,” you croon as you walk up to the cage. 

The lab (named Captain, if the paper taped to the chain link fence was to be believed) only wags harder and huffs quietly at you, eyes riveted to your face. 

* * *

Three hours later Captain enters his new home for the first time. It amuses you to no end that he seems determined to take his own toys and food bowl in the house, leaving you with only his bag of food. 

You’re a lot less lonely now.

* * *

**Steve’s POV**

It’s one of his rare days off, which means he’s reporting in to the pack in the time before you get home. Steve hates being away from you for even a moment, but they need an update and he’s being hounded by Fury and Natasha. Fury wants you turned immediately and, while Natasha is a little more sympathetic, Steve knows she’ll side with Fury if it comes down to it.

Steve glares at Fury in his remaining eye. If he were in his animal form he knows his hackles would be standing up and his lips would be pulled back in a snarl. 

“No, Nick. The information she’s giving me right now should be more than enough. It’s kept the council happy for months! I won’t turn her unless I have to,” Steve growls. 

Nick gave very few outward signs of his anger, but Steve could see the steely glint in his eyes that meant Steve was testing the older man’s patience. “Pierce is making moves. Transferring people and money and weapons. We don’t know why. That means, if anything happens, it’s _us_ that’ll be eliminated. We need the upper hand, Rogers. You know that. I won’t let that lying sack of shit wipe my pack off the map.”

Steve’s jaw works dangerously as he glowers daggers at the other man. “There has to be another way.” 

Fury stares at Steve without speaking for a few beats, his expression morphing into one of realization, which quickly turns almost pitying and Steve bites back the urge to punch him. Those eyes always see too much. “You like her.”

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business, _sir_ ,” he says, being sure to put as much venom as he can into the last word. 

Fury doesn’t take the bait. If anything, he looks thoughtful. The silence in the room is tense enough that Steve feels some of the wind sucked out of his sails, replaced with unease. Finally, after a small eternity, Fury speaks again, “You can’t be with her if you’re dead, Steve.” 

That brings Steve up short. He stares at Fury for a long time, trying to find a way to argue with that, but Fury’s right. If he doesn’t turn you, he and everyone he cares about could die. His fists clench at his side, resigned but unhappy. “When?” he asks, nearly choking on the word.

“Soon.” 

He nods and leaves without another word, dread coiling low in the pit of his stomach. 

* * *

Two weeks later he gets the signal; a howl from Bucky late in the night. He whines low in his throat, quietly enough that you don’t even twitch in the bed next to him. He doesn’t bite right away, instead taking the time to admire your peaceful, sleeping form. He knows this will change everything; likely ruin it. He won’t get to see you in the canteen anymore. Or listen to your day and give you comfort with his presence alone. 

But if what you told him today is anything to go by, you like him. 

He hopes it will be enough for you to forgive him one day.

* * *

**Your POV**

The nightmare last night had been weird. When you awake your bed seems larger and you blink and yawn, staring down at Steve-Captain, who’s his usual doggy self. 

Maybe it was a dream after all. 

You open your mouth to say good morning to him, but all that comes out is a long, plaintive meow. 

You’re scrabbling off of the bed, but get caught once or twice when your claws get stuck in the duvet. You tumble off the bed with a yowl, but your tiny furry body corrects itself halfway to the ground and you find yourself on your feet, eyes open wide and fur standing on end. 

Movement on the bed startles you into movement and you skitter to the bathroom, and use all of your minuscule weight to slowly push the door closed, blocking out the worst of the cracking and popping noises coming from the bedroom.

You realize you have maybe thirty seconds before Steve-Captain opens the door. The lock is so high up that you wonder, briefly, if you can even reach it. But then an idea strikes you and you leap on top of the sink counter and cautiously reach out and push slowly on the lock. It starts to turn and you have half a second to feel victorious before it finishes turning all at once and you plummet to the ground for the second time within a minute.

Heights had never been a forte of yours and now even tiny three foot drops feel huge.

The handle jiggles and you hiss and run into the tub, a low growl rumbling in your chest as you hide behind the shower curtain. 

“(Y/N)? Please, come out.” 

It strikes you that you can’t actually get out, even if you wanted to… Which you don’t. Would you die in here? Surely Steve would break down the door before it came to that… but did you really want that? 

Maybe you could claw his eyeballs out and make a break for it. They seemed sharp enough for that. 

But then again, it seemed like Steve-Captain could switch from dog to human. Maybe you could, too? 

But you had no idea how. 

_What did you do to me?_ you wanted to ask. What came out instead was an angry yowl that didn’t feel like it came from you, even though you were painfully aware it had.

“I’m so sorry. Please, let me explain,” he pleaded. When all you did was continue to growl lowly he sighed and you heard a thunk as his head hit the door. “I’m just going to… talk, then.”

And he did. He told you about what he was and what you were now. He told you about your boss, Alexander Pierce, and how the man wanted to kill Steve, you, and others like you; men, women, children. Innocents. He told you about how he’d always been a “Skinwalker” and about the pack he belonged to. How they needed your help to avoid extinction. 

The longer you listen the more your growling tapers off, until the only sounds are from the city outside. 

“Will you please let me in?” 

“Mrooooww,” you say plaintively, staring at the lock on the door. 

There was a pause, then, “You can’t open it, can you? One meow for yes.”

“Miaow,” you lament.

“Stand back, alright?” 

_One meow for yes._ “Mrow.” 

You’re expecting him to kick down the door (he seems the type), but he simply breaks the lock by turning the handle past where the lock allowed it. The door swings inwards a second later, handle hanging limp and useless from Steve’s impressive strength. 

He’s dressed in only a pair of pants, hanging low on his slim hips. His blue eyes lock onto you instantly, even with you mostly hidden in the tub. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers brokenly. You wonder why he sounds so shocked, but you realize you’re shaking, hair standing on end. He approaches the tub slowly, falling to his knees halfway there to make himself less threatening. “Can I pick you up?” he asks quietly. You nod once and a second later his huge, muscled arms are reaching into the tub and plucking you from the basin. Your claws dig into the meat of his shoulder (you don’t know how to put them away) but he doesn’t try to stop you. Instead, one of his big hands runs gently over the top of your head and down your back. He takes you back to the bed and lays down gently, with you on his chest, hands never once stopping their gentle, calming rhythm. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. I promise. Lemme teach you how to change back and forth, alright?” 

Your vision is blurrier than you’re used to, but you can see more in your periphery than you could before. His bright blue eyes are greyer than usual, as are the other colors in the room. You have a little trouble focusing on his face, but nod anyway, a tiny, hesitant meow leaving your kitty mouth.

* * *

Three hours later you’re covered in sweat and panting on top of Steve’s chest, naked as the day you were born. Your muscles tremble and you all but collapse into Steve’s waiting arms. 

“You did it, (Y/N). You did it. It’s going to get easier,” he soothes, hands running down your sweaty skin. 

You have so many things to say and questions to ask, but no energy to voice them. Instead, racking sobs tear through your chest. Steve holds you and murmurs gentle words in your ear and, before you know it, you’re asleep. 

* * *

When you wake up your body is still weak… and you’re still completely naked on top of Steve.

Steve, who’s awake and staring at you with tentative, nervous eyes. Steve, whose muscles are as firm as steel, and who’s also a part time golden retriever.

“Good morning,” he says hesitantly, offering you a small smile.

His body is warm beneath you and you bury your face between his pecs, not wanting to look at him just yet. “Clothes,” you whisper hoarsely. 

“Oh, right,” he says quietly. “Uh…” 

You crawl off of him and shimmy under the blankets, wrapping them securely around you and reveling in the warmth he leaves behind as he rolls off the bed. You hear him rummaging through your dresser and scoff quietly. Of course he knows where your clothes are. He’s been living with you for almost a year, after all.

“You should get dressed. We have… a lotta things to do.” 

You lift the blankets back enough to glower at him. “I never agreed to help you.” 

Steve blanches, shoulders sagging. “Y-you… won’t?” 

You stare at him, trying your best to not linger on his impressive, naked chest or bulging arms. “I will.”

He looks like a fish out of water. “Wha- Then why-”

“You should have just asked me,” you say quietly. “I would have helped you.” 

He collapses more than sits on the bed, head sagging pathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you’ve said that,” you say quietly. He’s close but you have to fight the urge to get closer. He smells so nice, though you couldn’t put a name to the smell if you tried. _Home_ , your brain tells you. Steve smells like home.

“Can you forgive me?” he asks, looking stricken. He expects to be told no, you realize.

You sigh and burrow out of the blankets (your dignity long forgotten at this point) and start pulling on the clothes he’d piled onto the bed next to you. “I dunno, Steve,” you admit. “But we better go. Something about the survival of your- … our species, or something?” you say, just a bit bitterly. 

Steve can’t look you in the eye, but he nods. “We’ll take your car. It isn’t far.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before you shrug on your jacket and head for the door. “Whatever you say, _Captain_.”

* * *

“Steve?” 

“Yes?”

“This is an animal shelter.”

You stare at the huge sign boasting “Caring Hearts Animal Shelter” and then at Steve, incredulous. 

He shrugs, still not looking you in the eye. “I s’pose it is.”

You glare at him and punch him on the shoulder. “You’re all hiding in an animal shelter?” 

He rubs his arm tenderly (though you had a feeling you hadn’t hurt him in the least) and shakes his head. “Not all of us, no. Our population in New York isn’t huge and not everyone can turn into something that wouldn’t draw attention in an animal shelter. A few of us are at the zoo, actually, but most of us are in homes or living as humans for the moment.”

You have so many questions, but you assume the quicker you get inside the quicker they’ll be answered.

* * *

A huge silver-coated Siberian Husky sits just past the door, its grey-blue eyes following you and Steve with laser precision. 

You aren’t sure how or why, but you know it’s a Skinwalker. Something in the tiny, animal part of your brain tells you it’s like you.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says solemnly to the husky. 

The husky barely glances at Steve, his eyes instead boring into you carefully for what feels like a small eternity, before he starts shifting. The sound of cracking bones and popping joints fills the space but isn’t quite able to hide the sound of Steve locking the front door. 

Less than a minute later a tall brunet man is standing where the husky had just been. He has shoulder length brown hair and eyes just as blue as they’d been in his animal form. 

He’s also completely naked.

You clap a hand over your eyes and feel your face heating underneath your palm. Are all Skinwalkers as attractive as these two, or are they the exception and not the rule?

“Not used to the whole no clothes thing yet, Doll?” a deep, raspy voice asks. You assume it’s the husky- Bucky?- because you didn’t hear anyone else come in (and your hearing’s almost frighteningly good now). 

“Nope, not so much,” you squeak. 

That gets a bark of laughter from Bucky. “Fine, I’ll throw some clothes on. In the meantime, everyone’s assembled downstairs. You’re late, by the way.” 

You can tell he’s talking to Steve at the end there from the way the direction of his voice changes. You hear him move around the room, the sound of clothes rustling coming a second later.

Steve sounds annoyed, though it doesn’t seem like his anger is directed at Bucky. “Yeah, well, getting used to changing your species can take a little while.” 

“You can open your eyes, Doll.”

Your hand falls from your face and, sure enough, the man has pants on (though, once again, the shirt has been foregone). 

“Well, better late than never. Better not keep ‘em waitin’,” he says almost cheerfully. 

Steve groans and runs a hand through his blond hair. “You’re the worst. You’re excited to see Fury rip me a new one.”

Bucky shrugs, the picture of innocence. “You know I just worry about you. Someone’s gotta tell you when you do stupid shit and since you don’t listen to me, I figure it’s Fury’s turn to give it a shot.”

Steve glances back at you, face softening slightly as he takes in your nervous posture. “C’mon. Bucky’s right. We shouldn’t keep ‘em waiting.”

He extends his hand to you and, after a few awkward moments, you take it. He smiles brightly and your nerves fade even as your heartbeat picks up. 

* * *

The room that Steve and Bucky take you to is, in a word, noisy. 

In two?

Insanely noisy. 

Your eyes tell you the room is filled with a cacophonous smattering of animals from a wide variety of species, but that tiny part of your brain tells you they’re not as they appear. 

It helps that they seem to be chattering loudly to each other in a way different species never would. 

The room goes suddenly quiet when the three of you enter, all eyes on you. 

One by one they shift back. 

A black house cat with green eyes turns into a short, intimidating redheaded woman. The Osprey next to her shifts into a blond man with kind but watchful eyes. 

A parakeet which had been flying circles around Bucky’s head and tweeting loudly shifts into a black man with a toothy grin (Bucky punches his arm and the man returns it in kind, smile never dropping off his face). 

A small badger-like creature turns into a short, gruff looking man with impressive facial hair, oddly styled hair, and a permanent scowl. 

A large dog or possibly a bear turns into an unassuming man with greying hair and a shy smile. The hyperactive greyhound that had been chattering the bear’s ear off turns into a short man with well-kept facial hair and the kind of swagger and flippant expression that came from being wealthy and intelligent. 

A boa turns into a young woman with long brown hair. The cheetah she’d been sitting on shifts into a young man with white-blond hair and a cocky smile. 

The ox- which easily rivaled the bear in size- turns into a large muscular man with long blond hair and a bright smile. The jet black horse- which stood away from the rest of the group- turns into a thin man with equally dark hair and sharp eyes. 

Though not the biggest, the most intimidating might have been the quiet, one-eyed doberman that didn’t get any less friendly looking as he turned into a tall, one-eyed man with a glare that could curdle milk. “You’re late,” he says, making the admonishment sound like a death sentence. 

Steve just shrugs, not chafing the least under the man’s deadly stare. “There was traffic.”

The man glares at Steve with his one remaining eye. “That’s bullshit, but I don’t have time to chew your ass out at the moment. Now,” his gaze slides to you and you freeze like a deer in the headlights. “Introductions, explanations, and expectations.” 

* * *

**One Year Later**

Headlines on everything from major news networks to seedy tabloids herald the death of Alexander Pierce. The story is easy to latch onto. Police aren’t making any comments yet, but somehow everyone still knows that he was murdered in his office, which was locked from the inside. The window was open, but his office is on the sixteenth floor. Police haven’t taken anyone into custody, either. There are a few interviews from close coworkers and even his frazzled secretary, but no one knows anything. 

“I don’t think I look too bad,” you say, staring at yourself on the TV. They say it adds ten pounds, but the angle and lighting was flattering enough that you looked pretty alright. 

Natasha smirks from her perch on the armrest of your couch. “You play the clueless assistant perfectly, sestra,” she purrs.

You roll your eyes but smile at her. “Thanks. I had a lot of real life experience to go off of.” 

Steve looks sad in his seat next to you. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know about us or Pierce.”

It’s an old argument, one you’ve had with him dozens if not hundreds of times. 

You stare at him. “So that’s what we’re doing today? We’re fighting?” you ask him with a challenging smirk. 

“Like cats and dogs,” Bucky mutters under his breath from his spot between Natasha and Steve. Sam groans and throws the TV remote at his head, but Bucky catches it out of the air and smiles victoriously at the other man (he was still sour that Sam had stolen his usual spot on the recliner). Even Natasha slaps him on the chest with the back of her hand, not quite managing to hide how amused she was. 

“That was awful,” she chastises. 

Bucky shrugs. “Ain’t my fault you guys don’t know good comedy,” he rasps with a shit-eating grin.

Natasha glares at him and slides gracefully off of the couch. “Alright, you louts. Mission accomplished. As soon as Xavier’s pack reports in on Schmidt our work is done and we need to get ready for Tony’s party.” Sam and Bucky groan and grumble but clamber to their feet at the look she gives them. 

“See ya, punk. Doll,” he says, giving you a winning smile before he saunters through your door. 

“See you ‘around, man. And thank you again, (Y/N),” Sam says sincerely before following Bucky out. 

Natasha lingers a few moments longer, giving you a gentle hug and whispering, “You going to be alright with this idiot?” 

You know Steve can hear her, but you smile at her. “I’ll claw his skin to ribbons if he tries anything.” 

That makes mirth dance in Natasha’s eyes, her lips pressed into a smile she couldn’t quite hide. “If you do, videotape it so I can watch it, alright?” she whispers conspiratorially. “Be well, sestra.” She stands up then, giving Steve a smile as though you hadn’t just been talking about maiming him. Steve’s so used to it that he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “You know where to find us if anything happens. See you at Tony’s party later.” It isn’t a suggestion and both you and Steve knew you’d be there rather than risk Natasha’s wrath.

“You got it,” you say, giving the black cat one last wave goodbye before she shuts your door.

The house is plunged into sudden quiet, the only noise from the TV newscaster droning through the weather. The moment stretches on, but you look at Steve and the spell is broken. 

His lips are on yours and you fall back onto the couch. His arms cage you in, and you lose the next hour to his sweet words, hot touch, and impressive body. 

* * *

You lay on top of Steve on the couch, more than happy to relax now that you’re sated and a bit exhausted. 

“We’re gonna talk about this some time,” you say, tapping his shoulder insistently with your finger.

His arms wrap around your waist and you make a tiny noise of protest as it jostles you around ever so slightly. “Which part?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You perch your chin on his chest and mock glare at him. “All of it.” 

He worries his lip between his teeth. “You’re not still mad at me, right…?” he asks nervously. 

You glare at him long enough that he begins to squirm, but relent with a chuckle and peck a kiss on his lips. “Nah, Stevie. We’re golden.”


End file.
